


Sam and Depression

by rosworms



Series: Therapy Fanfic [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Depression, F/M, Gen, M/M, No Ship, Sastiel - Freeform, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Wincest - Freeform, gen - Freeform, mental health, sambenny - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-02
Updated: 2015-12-02
Packaged: 2018-05-04 12:47:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 9,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5334644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosworms/pseuds/rosworms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is part of the Therapy Fanfic series. This section focuses on depression. Each 'chapter' is a separate small story. They are not connected, they are not in the same 'verse, they are not related at all. Each story stands on it's own.</p><p>Warning: Some of the stories in this section have other issues in addition to depression, including suicidal thoughts and attempts, anxiety, etc.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Just Sleep

For once… all was well.

Heaven was back to normal and the angels hadn’t made a peep, too happy to stay cooped up in the home they’d missed so much. Hell was… according to Crowley, Hell was fine. Demons were doing demon things, but there was nothing major happening. Dean was Dean again. Castiel had his grace… what was left of it after Metatron’s spell, at least. He wasn’t all powerful, but he wasn’t dying. 

Everything was fine.

But Sam couldn’t shake the feeling of a weight on his chest. The feeling that usually happened right before tears were shed, but this time none came. The feeling just lingered and he’d heave great sighs and it would provide some relief for a minute or two. 

But it always came back. That ache that went deeper than his skin and bones. An ache in his soul.

The black smudge in his soul was a constant reminder of his faults. 

Demon blood would never leave him and he’d forever be a stain upon the earth. A tainted soul. An abomination. He could never overcome that. He’d tried and he’d gotten an angel shoved in his body for his effort. He couldn’t even die right.

Come to think of it, he couldn’t even be resurrected right. He’d let himself be separated when Castiel rescued him from Hell. Part of him had been alive… the darkest part of himself. The people he’d wronged… he could never be forgiven for that.

Every moment of every day it seemed… the thoughts and more just took over Sam’s mind. Driving him deeper into the dark pits of himself.

It made it hard to get out of bed. Breathing alone was exhausting. So he stayed there. 

If he slept more, he wouldn’t have to be awake. If he wasn’t awake, he wouldn’t have to think.

Thinking only hurt. Remembering was the worst. Unconsciousness was the best option to escape the darkness.


	2. I Wish I Could Save You

He was watching Sam waste away. He was witnessing a death in slow motion, he was sure of it. 

Right now should be a happy time. Dean had been saved, cured by Sam’s own blood. And Castiel was living peacefully on donated grace, which did not reject it’s host like stolen grace did.

But Sam seemed worse off than before. Castiel noticed it a week after returning to the bunker. Sam hadn’t been eating. He hadn’t been sleeping. He hadn’t initiated any affections with Castiel and, though he never refused Castiel’s advances, he was distant enough to make it uncomfortable for both parties.

And Castiel didn’t understand. There was no apocalypse, no impending doom, no tragedy… nothing that he could think of to warrant Sam’s mood and behavior.

But still it persisted.

And then Castiel found his first clue while digging through Sam’s toiletries bag. At the bottom was an empty orange bottle with Sam’s name on it. Lexapro 3 refills October 2012.

The words made no sense to Castiel except that it was over two years old and had obviously not been refilled since then. He placed it back in the bag and retrieved the comb he was originally looking for.

He didn’t’ know why he didn’t ask Sam about it. But it was Dean who answered the question, “What is Lexapro?”

“Uh… medication. I think it’s for mental health? I’m pretty sure I’ve seen commercials for it. Just try google.”

Obviously Dean had no clue about the bottle in Sam’s bag or he would have been knowledgeable about it’s contents, so Castiel did exactly as Dean suggested and searched google.

Lexapro (escitalopram) is an antidepressant belonging to a group of drugs called selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors (SSRIs). Escitalopram affects chemicals in the brain that may become unbalanced and cause depression or anxiety.

Antidepressant. Depressed is a word that Castiel felt accurately described Sam’s demeanor as of late.

“I don’t understand,” he announced one night as he and Sam were making their bed. 

“Hmm?” Sam looked up from where he was tucking a sheet corner.

“There is nothing to be depressed about, and yet you still are.”

Sam’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped slightly.

“I’m not… Cas, I’m fine.” He turned away, burying himself in the task of making the bed look perfect before they would climb in and wrinkle it again.

“You are not fine. You’ve been despondent, distant, and you don’t eat. I don’t understand why.” Castiel sighed and stood straight, letting go of the bed cover. “I wish I could save you.”

Sam let go also, bringing his eyes up to meet Castiel’s. 

“It’s not… it’s not as easy as choosing not to be depressed. And it’s not caused by… events.” Sam reached for his toiletries bag and pulled out the orange bottle that Castiel had already seen.

“I was taking medicine for a while. It helps… because it’s a brain chemistry thing. It’s an actual medical…. thing.” His grip on the bottle was tight, like forcing the words out of his mouth were causing his hands to close tighter.

“If it helps, why have you not refilled it in so long?”

Sam breathed in sharply, realizing that Castiel must have found the bottle already.

“I first got on it when you both were in purgatory. It was the first time I was forced to admit it was a problem… not just a demon blood thing or a lucifer’s vessel thing or even a fallen wall thing. It was just me.” Sam shrugged self-consciously. “I got my last refill after Dean came back… and then came The Trials. They did something to me… they were changing me. Not just making me sick, but the depression wasn’t there. So I didn’t refill them again.”

Castiel listened silently, nodding his head for Sam to continue.

“After that, I guess it was Gadreel’s presence in my body that changed the chemistry. I felt fine… better than fine. And then there was so much going on with Metatron and Abaddon… and Dean. It was like the apocalypse again. Never a moment to let my own mind catch up with me…. until now.”

“So, there is nothing currently making you feel depressed other than the chemicals in your head?” He just wanted to be sure. He didn’t expect Sam’s watery laugh as he tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling. Castiel knew he was trying to keep tears from falling.

“I know! Believe me, I know there is no justification for it. I should just be able to suck it up because others have it worse and I have no right-”

“No! Sam, that is not what I was saying. I only wanted to be certain that I was not doing anything wrong or that there was nothing else to be worried about. You don’t need to justify how you feel… feeling them is what makes your feelings justified.”

Castiel stepped around the bed and held Sam’s face in his hands.

“Tomorrow we find more pills. If that is what it takes, then that is what we will do.”

“Thanks, Cas… I just…. thanks.”

Castiel raised up on his toes and kissed Sam on the nose. He would always be there for Sam, no matter what problems they faced. They would face them together.


	3. Helpless

How many times had Castiel proclaimed “I am an angel of the Lord,” with the expectation that he could right any earthly wrongs? How many times had he been able to heal the humans he cared about? How many times had he spoken of his angelic strength?

Too many times, he thought. He’d been prideful and he could almost believe his helplessness now was his punishment.

Sam Winchester was not okay. Castiel watched him get further from okay each and every day. 

Sometimes Sam would spend the whole day isolated in his bedroom. Castiel would join him if Sam allowed. He’d hold him and keep Sam warm. He’d keep the embrace secure, hoping that Sam felt safe. He’d whisper sweet nothings to soothe, tell stories to distract. 

Sometimes Castiel wouldn’t be allowed in the room. He’d spend those days in the hallway, just listening. Most of the time there was nothing to hear except for Sam’s pulse and soft breaths.

Sometimes Sam wouldn’t eat. He would say he wasn’t hungry, but Castiel could see his body working overtime to compensate for the lack of food. He would bring small meals to Sam’s room, bland and easy to digest. Sometimes Sam would force it down with thanks, but sometimes he couldn’t even bring himself to do that. 

Then there were the good days. Castiel lived for the good days. Sam would shower and shave, eat a good breakfast, kiss Castiel good morning, and then they would work. Most of the days were good. Maybe half. 

Castiel loved Sam when he was happy, but he also loved Sam when he wasn’t. He wished he could heal Sam’s heart and mind, but it wasn’t to be. All he could do was be there.

~

Sam couldn’t figure out why Castiel stayed with him. 

But it didn’t seem to matter in this moment, which his face buried in Castiel’s chest. With his whole body wrapped up in Castiel’s. With the scent of ozone and comfort surrounding him. 

He breathed a shuddering sigh, imagining big black wings embracing him, holding him. He kept his eyes closed and listened to the rumbling voice all around him, telling him he was loved.


	4. Papercut

Sam had already been having a bad day, Castiel could sense as much from the moment Sam had awakened.

Usually one to rise bright and early, he’d stayed in bed until almost noon lost in his thoughts and pretending to be asleep. Castiel stroked his back lightly, knowing that Sam was awake and knowing that Sam knew he knew, and they both stayed silent and played along.

The paper cut on Sam’s finger was the final straw to tear at Sam’s carefully constructed and still fragile mindset. To him, it was as if the one cut was an opening to all the horrors and filth that lived inside of him.

The way he backed away when Castiel tried to reached out to him, concerned by the blood leaking from his lover’s hand. 

“No! You can’t… just… I don’t want to get you dirty.”

“Sam, it is only blood. We know how to wash blood from clothing. You, yourself, taught me how.” Castiel reached again and Sam jumped from his chair, knocking it backwards.

“But it’s my blood. It… it stains.” Sam held his hand protectively towards himself, curling away from Castiel. 

And Castiel knew that Sam wasn’t talking about staining clothing. He closed his eyes and sighed at the true meaning of Sam’s words. 

“Sam, your blood had been on my hands several times. It does not stain. You are not a stain.”

“But… I’m so… ” Sam trailed off, looking at the floor. The words weren’t spoken but they were clear as a bell. I’m so dirty, filthy, not clean, impure, evil, unworthy….

“Sam Winchester, you are beautiful.” Castiel stepped slowly, inching closer to the wounded bird before him. “You have a soul brighter than the brightest flash of lightening and more gentle than the first snowfall on a winter night.”

As he spoke, he took Sam’s hand in his own.

“Your kindness creates ripples of joy in the lives of others and your selflessness is unparalleled by any living being in all the reaches of the universe.”

Castiel ran a thumb over the small cut, healing with a gentle touch and soft glow.

“You are patient, you and loving, you are generous.” He brought Sam’s hand up and kissed where the cut had been.

“And I love you, Sam Winchester.”


	5. It's Okay To Need

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> depression and anxiety

Sammy thinks he’s gotten it all hidden away. He thinks Dean can’t see all the turmoil rolling around inside his head. But Dean knows him better than he knows anything.

He knows when Sam is overcompensating and his smile is just a little too wide, a little to fake, and his eyes are just a little too dull. He can see it because he sees Sammy. 

He knows when Sam makes an impromptu beeline for the bathroom that it’s not for an emergency piss. The pulse in his wrist is just a little too fast, his breathing a little to shallow, and his skin just a little too pale. He can see it because he sees Sammy.

He always sees Sammy.

Even when Sammy would rather not be seen.

So he knows when Sam is having a bad day, whether is be depression or anxiety.

He does his best to just be supportive when Sam is depressed. He spends a little extra time in bed in the morning, just holding Sam and making sure he knows he’s loved. He doesn’t ask for sex, but he gives Sam whatever he needs. If there is no hunt, he makes a point not to look for one and spends the day taking care of Sammy.

He does his best to be supportive when Sam is feeling anxious. He sits on the other side of the bathroom door, listening to Sam try to calm himself down. He makes sure Sam knows he’s around during the day with little touches and physical closeness. It helps Sam stay calm when he’s near. He does what he can to distract Sam from whatever his mind is obsessing over and he spends the day taking care of Sammy.

And on the good days, when Sam would rather forget about it and not acknowledge his own pain, Dean acknowledges it for him. And he supports him. And he doesn’t forget. 

“Sammy, it’s okay to need more than what I can give. It’s okay to need more than me.”


	6. Always

Benny was certain that he was in love with Sam Winchester. He knew this because all the things that first attracted him to the hunter were slowly disappearing, yet he would not be turned away. Sam was worth getting through… whatever was going on.

Sam’s laugh… so full and free. When Sam laughed, truly laughed, it was with his whole being. It was Benny’s new favorite song, but he was hearing it less and less. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d actually heard it.

Sam’s passion. Sam was such a passionate person, about so many things. And he didn’t hide it. Benny enjoyed his enthusiasm whenever Sam learned something new and couldn’t stop talking about it. But Sam hadn’t been passionate.. or even remotely interested in much recently.

Sam’s appreciation of Benny’s cooking, and of real food in general. Dean would eat anything that crossed his path, especially if it was processed and full of corn syrup, but Sam was pickier. He preferred organic or just fresh if that wasn’t available, and he loved Benny’s cooking. The vampire had been in the kitchen since before such preservatives and artificial flavors had become popular, so he knew how to make a good meal from scratch. But lately, Sam’s appetite had waned. Benny could see the man had lost several pounds.

Sam insisted he was fine. Dean shrugged and said Sam was just having one of hid emo phases and it would go away eventually. Benny was stumped.

Nothing he did seemed to make Sam feel any better, though he could see Sam trying to pretend. It hurt worse that Sam felt he had to pretend for Benny’s benefit. 

And now he stood in the open door frame that lead to their bedroom, watching his lover sleep. Sam’s body was huddled under the blanket in the darkened room. It was another new development… Sam went to sleep earlier, stayed asleep longer, and his body never completely relaxed. Benny would rejoice in Sam finally getting some sleep if it didn’t feel as though the other man were using it to escape.

Benny kicked off his shoes and closed the door with a quiet click. He shed his clothing and crawled into the bed, behind Sam’s body. As he wrapped his arms around the small waist, Sam shifted a little and then sighed as his breaths evened out again.

“I just want you to be happy, Lil Cher. You deserve that.” He kissed Sam’s head and buried his face in the long hair, breathing in Sam’s citrusy shampoo.

“Just be there…” Sam’s almost inaudible words startled Benny. He didn’t think he’d awakened him. He pulled Sam’s body closer and held onto him.

“Always."


	7. The Weight On My Chest

He’d always dealt with depression to some degree. If he was honest, since he was about thirteen years old.

It was always manageable. There was always so much going on that he deemed more important than himself. And, at Stanford, when there wasn’t any life or death situation hanging over his head… he had the free mental health clinic to go to once a week upon Jessica’s insistence. 

It stopped being manageable after Gadreel was ejected. There was plenty to do and enough was hanging over their heads, but Sam still found himself overwhelmed by this black cloud. It was thicker and heavier than any demon smoke Sam had ever encountered, though it seemed to fight for control over Sam’s every thought and action just like a demon.

Sam’s chest felt heavy… as if he needed more air, but the effort of breathing more was too much. And he would sigh and it would relieve the feeling for a moment before coming back.

It made Sam tired. So he used that as his excuse when Benny would ask him what was wrong. And Benny asked a lot… not always verbally. Sometimes with a look or a gentle touch, sweeping Sam’s hair away from his face as he peered into Sam’s eyes. 

Unwanted thoughts began to invade Sam’s mind at the most unexpected times. While watching television, cuddled up against Benny’s chest, he would suddenly think of all the ways he could make his own death easier for Benny. If there was any way to soften the blow. Sometimes he would be in the shower and think about ‘slipping’ and hitting his head hard enough to knock him out and maybe drown. He tried not to drive anymore because he was worried he might wrap his brother’s car around a telephone pole or sink it in a river.

It finally came to a head one evening while Sam and Benny were just lying in bed, trying to get to sleep. Benny’s arms were so strong and comforting around Sam’s shoulders and his head was cushioned on Benny’s chest so he could hear the thump of the vampire’s heart that pumped the infected blood to each of his limbs. Maybe it was the phrasing in his head 'infected blood’, that pushed him over the edge. Or maybe not. 

But suddenly all of the dark heaviness just welled up in Sam’s chest and he couldn’t hold it in anymore. He let out a quiet sob into Benny’s chest.

“Cher? Sam?” Benny quietly asked, his voice full of concern. Sam couldn’t stop what had started, though. Benny let him cry, worried and unsure of what had happened. Sam’s breaths were gasping and shuddered as his hands held tight onto Benny’s torso. 

Sam cried until he exhausted himself and fell asleep, but Benny held him and dozed lightly. He couldn’t let his guard down until he knew what was wrong. 

When morning came, Sam found he was still wrapped in Benny’s embrace. It was a nice way to wake up until he remembered his breakdown the night before. He stiffened and looked up to see Benny’s warm eyes looking back at him.

“I… sorry… I….”

“Lil Cher, I just want to know that you are okay. Are you?”

“Yeah, I’m… yeah…” Sam saw that Benny was seeing straight through his lies and he sighed. “No… not really.”

He pushed away from Benny and sat up in the bed, bringing his knees and the blanket up to his chest. “Haven’t been for a while, I think.”

Benny lay on his side and pushed up on one elbow, using his free hand to caress Sam’s arm and give comfort. 

“Tell me.” He encouraged.

“I think I’m depressed.” Sam waited for some snarky response like 'well, we already figured that part out’ but there was none. He looked back at Benny and only saw love and patience as he waited for Sam to continue. “I know I’m depressed. I went to a counselor for a while… but it was just a free mental health clinic. They couldn’t prescribe pills or anything. But uh… it helped when it got bad.”

Sam didn’t know where he was really going with this, as he picked at balls of fuzzies on the blanket to keep his hands busy. He just knew he needed to tell someone something. 

“Do you think… maybe we should find someone for you to talk to again?”

Sam’s jaw dropped and he let his knees fall down as he leaned sideways onto one elbow so he was facing Benny directly.

“You… that’s okay?”

“Of course it’s okay. Why wouldn’t it be?”

“I don’t know… because it’s stupid. I should just suck it up and deal with it.”

Benny ran a hand through Sam’s hair, gently and slowly.

“Now who told you that?”

“Nobody… I’ve never really told anyone else. I mean, Jess figured it out on her own… but I never told her. And Dean prefers to just shove everything down and ignore it until he can drink it away. Actually, so did our father. Not the best role model for sharing and caring time, ya know?”

“Mmhmm, I see. But you know your brother ain’t exactly doing very well with that. And I’d prefer to have you happy… not just trying to stay afloat. I want you healthy. I want you… I want you.” Benny shrugged. “And I want you to be able to tell me these things. Or… tell somebody if you don’t want to tell me.”

Sam nodded. 

“So… Cher… let’s take care of you. Whatever it takes… talking… medicine… anything at all. I’m with ya.”

It was almost as if some of the black cloud had been pulled away. It was there, always present, but it felt as if maybe Sam wasn’t alone underneath it. And… it was a little better just knowing that.


	8. Alone

Sam hated being dependent on anyone, even his brother and his lover. He hated being alone even more. 

Alone was when his mind had time to tear him apart.

Alone was when he could wrap himself in guilt and regret.

Alone was when every dark feeling could just wash over him, drown him, carry him under.

And alone was when nobody was around to pull him back out of it.

He’d been alone for two weeks. 

The first week hadn’t been so bad. He’d had a distraction. They’d split up for two hunts that both took on emergency status. It had been agreed that Sam and Castiel would never work with just the two of them, so Dean and Cas worked together while Sam took the smaller case. Sam poured himself into his hunt, forgetting to eat or sleep without someone there to remind him. He’d finished first with the laser like focus he’d devoted to his hunt, and he’d returned to the bunker to wait for Cas and Dean.

The second week was bad. He crashed from the endorphin and adrenaline that had been high during his hunt and nobody was there to catch him. Every self deprecating thought he’d ever had decided to make itself known once again.

He’d eventually barricaded himself off in his bedroom, curling into a ball in the corner of his room. He held his fists to his ears, hoping to block out the horrible voices that told him how filthy he was, how unworthy.

They’re never coming back.

They’ll both realize how much easier life is without you.

All you are is a depressing weight. They are sick and tired of taking care of you and your weepy ass.

If you could just act happier, you wouldn’t be such a damn burden.

Stop being so depressed, fucker. 

He fought himself until he fell into bed and passed out. He stayed there for three days, letting his own mind kill him slowly and escaping to sleep whenever he could.

~

Fingers carded through his hair.

His back was warm and pressed against something soft.

Slowly awareness came back as Sam fought his way towards consciousness.

Hot breath tickled the hairs on his neck.

The sound of home whispered in his ear.

“Sam, wake up…" 

He opened his eyes, realizing Castiel was in bed with him. Was waking him ever so gently. He rolled over, burying his face in Castiel’s chest. He breathed in the scent of his love, his home, his comfort. And then he sobbed.

"Oh, Sam… ” Castiel’s arms wrapped around him and he let himself be cradled and held. “I’m so sorry, love. It wasn’t supposed to take this long.”

Castiel let him cry, whispering gentle nothings to soothe and calm. He let Sam cry until he there was nothing. And there were very little tears, having already entered a state of dehydration. 

As Sam calmed down and his breathing hitched, Castiel pulled away just enough to get a good look at him.

“You’re thinner… Dean was right. He said I should ask if you’d remembered to eat, but I can see the answer already. How long have you been here?”

Sam was grateful that Castiel left out the fact that he was stinky and greasy, since he knew he was. He’d been in the bedroom far longer than he should have been and he wasn’t keeping track of the time.

“Uh… what day is it?”

The question seemed to break Castiel’s heart. Sam could see the blue eyes dim a bit and he wished he could be better for Castiel instead of always needing to be taken care of.

“It is Tuesday… the fifteenth of this month.”

“Oh… um… I think it was Friday when I came in here? Maybe? or Saturday?”

“Sam, let me take care of you. Come with me.” Castiel pushed the blankets off of Sam and pulled him out of bed. Sam went willingly with him, needing to stay in contact with another person. Fearing the isolation.

He barely noticed as the angel stripped him and pulled him into a warm shower, but he reveled in the skin to skin contact as Castiel washed and shaved him

He missed being touched. It wasn’t sexual, but it was necessary. It made his skin stop hurting and aching. He hadn’t noticed the pain until it was gone, and he gasped with relief. He wanted to cry some more and he knew Castiel would let him if he did.

The heat in the shower made him dizzy and Castiel cupped the warm water in his palm and made Sam sip from it. He hadn’t realized how parched he was until the warm water relieved the burn in his throat.

After the shower, he shivered until Castiel covered him with sweat pants and a large t-shirt. Then he wrapped an arm around Sam’s waist and guided him to the kitchen, where Dean waited.

“He okay?” Dean asked Castiel. His eyes slid to the younger hunter. “Sam?”

“’m fine.” Sam mumbled, turning his gaze to the floor. He felt Castiel shake his head beside him, but didn’t have the energy to call him out.

“Well, I made food. Light food… easy on an empty stomach.” Sam appreciated how Dean didn’t outright announce that Sam had starved himself for two weeks even though all three of them knew it. 

He sat down at the table and a bowl of soup with some crackers and orange slices were placed in front of him. Dean’s hand landed on Sam’s shoulder and squeezed. Sam’s breath caught as the feeling of safety descended upon him.

“Eat up, Sammy." 

His brother and his lover sat down beside him and and ate their own soup and crackers. And Sam felt okay.


	9. What He Said

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> depression and low self worth

“It’s not the same, darlin’.” Benny shook his head. It was a bad day after he almost gave into the temptation to bite Sam during a heavy petting session. Sam had been trying to make him feel better, but it wasn’t working.

“I know it’s not the same. I’m just saying, I understand… sometimes I feel-”

“You can’t understand. I didn’t want this… this need for blood. But you did it to yourself!” The words just flew out. He didn’t mean for them to, and Sam’s surprised eyes made him want to just swallow them back down. “Cher… Sam, I didn’t mean it.”

But he could see he was too late. Sam was shutting down. The wet eyes were the only indication of any emotion. His mouth was pulled into a straight line and his jaw clenched repeatedly as he gathered all of himself and pushed it down.

“No, you’re right. I did that… and it was unfair of me to… I won’t make that mistake again.” Sam nodded tightly and turned to leave the room.

“I’m really sorry, Sam.” Benny was now slumped on the corner of his bed. 

“You don’t need to be. You were right.”

“Will you be coming back to bed later?”

Sam paused at the doorway, tapping his fingers on the jam a few times before he took a deep breath. 

“No, I think I’ll sleep in my room tonight.”

~

Sam slept in his own room for the next few nights, actually. It wasn’t out of anger. He wasn’t angry at Benny. What he’d said had been true and Sam knew that. 

He had just let himself forget lately. The reminder of who he really was… it was jarring. He’d almost forgotten what it meant to be the freak. The one who’d jump started the apocalypse. The one with the demon blood. The one who betrayed his brother for a demon. The one who’d gotten himself addicted to that same demon blood. 

He’d almost forgotten how unworthy and tainted he was. He didn’t blame Benny for reminding him. He should be reminded every so often so that he wouldn’t forget his place in the world.

So Sam stayed away. It was ridiculous to think that someone who was a victim of vampirism would want to be around someone who chose to become a monster.

During meals, Sam was quiet. He was polite. He spoke when spoken to and gave simple answers. He avoided eye contact and flinched away whenever he accidentally touched anyone else with his filthy hands.

He didn’t see how sad Benny looked whenever he flinched. He didn’t see the small hopeful smile whenever Sam took the offered food that Benny cooked. And he definitely didn’t see the daggers that Dean was glaring into Benny.

~

“What did you do?” Dean hissed as soon as Sam was gone from the kitchen. “And don’t try to act like you have no idea. I see how guilty you look whenever he’s around. He’s been silent as the grave for days and I haven’t seen him look so scared and sad since… since I caught him listening to that damned voicemail that Zachariah fixed for him.”

Benny’s head hung low, knowing he’d caused Sam’s current depression. But he hadn’t been with Sam for long and he didn’t know how to fix it. 

“I was havin’ a bad day. I almost bit him.” Benny confessed. He looked up and saw Dean’s left eye twitching. 

“If you ever… EVER bite my brother… suck his blood… I will send your ass back to Purgatory permanently." 

Benny nodded, knowing it was a deserved threat, before he continued. “He was only tryin’ to comfort me and make me feel better. He was only tryin’ to help and I blew up at him.”

"What did you say?”

“I said I didn’t choose to be a vampire, but he did it to himself… the demon blood.”

He didn’t expect Dean’s face to lose a shade of color, but it did as the hunter let out a huff of breath and leaned back in his chair. 

“You really said that? To Sam?”

“Yeah. I feel terrible. I didn’t mean it… not really.”

“Shit.”

~

A knock on Sam’s door, brought his head up from his research. He didn’t mind. He was having trouble concentrating on the words. 

The door opened without waiting for an answer from him, meaning it was Dean who would be walking through. He knew Benny would never come in without being asked. 

“Hiya, Sammy.” Dean’s smile didn’t meet his eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Sam asked. Dean rolled his eyes as he shut the door behind him and pulled Sam’s desk chair out and flipped it around, sitting backwards and laying his arms on the back of the chair.

“I was gonna ask you the same thing. Sam… Benny told me what he said.”

Sam’s mouth opened for a moment before closing. He looked down at his hands and shook his head. 

“He was right. I never should have-”

“No. Fuck, Sam… I thought we cleared this shit up already. That bitch used you.. took advantage of you when you were reeling. You were killing yourself over me and she used it, gained your trust, got you believing all the acid she was spittin’.” Dean’s voice was so forceful and rough, Sam looked up again and saw Dean’s eyes boring into his own. It was a very intimate move that Dean ‘no chick flick moments’ Winchester rarely ever made. 

“Dean, I let her convince me. I knew it was wrong.”

“Yeah, you did. Guess what? You’re human. You’re gonna fuck up every once in a while. And you overcame it. After Famine… you had to go cold turkey on your own without any Godlike assistance… and you did it. Dammit, I’m proud of you. You sure didn’t choose the shit that’s been thrown at you all your life, but you’ve come through all of it like a fuckin’ champ.”

Sam blinked away, the tears in his eyes making Dean blurry, and he smiled. Hearing his brothers praise made him feel warm and safe. It was like he was a kid again and Dean was congratulating him on a perfect spelling test. He lived for Dean’s adulation as a kid, and it hadn’t changed as he got older.

“Really?” Sam sniffed. Dean grinned, knowing he’d gotten through.

“You know it. I’m not saying it again, Sammy.” Dean reached a hand out, gripping Sam’s forearm that he could reach. “You need to talk to Benny. He feels like a right piece of shit for saying it. And I know he didn’t mean it. He loves you, man.”

Sam nodded. “Yeah… yeah, okay.”

He stood up and wiped his eyes, taking a deep breath to calm himself, and then left to find Benny.


	10. Wounded Bird

It was the middle of the night. He couldn’t be bothered to figure out the time, but everyone was asleep. Castiel was in the bed beside him, but Sam’s eyes were open. He couldn’t sleep with his chest feeling so heavy. It was pulling him down, through the mattress, through the floor, to the black pits where nightmares were formed. 

He gasped lightly as his thoughts lead to his pulse beginning to race. He rolled off the bed and padded, barefoot, to the bathroom. He didn’t know why he wanted to be there. He didn’t feel nauseated or sick. But it was alone and, as he sank to the floor, the cool tiles felt good against his face. 

He didn’t know how much time had passed and he hadn’t realized he’d started crying until warm hands wiped a trail of tears from his face. He opened his eyes and looked up to see Castiel sitting cross legged on the floor in front of him. 

The warm angelic hands beckoned him and Sam curled towards Castiel, letting his head be pulled onto the inviting lap. He wrapped his arms around Castiel’s waist as he buried his face in the fleece pajamas.

Castiel’s fingers ran gentle lines through his hair and down his neck, attempting to soothe the breaking hunter. And as the warmth and grace surrounded him, Sam let himself break down completely with gasping sobs and shaking muscles.

He knew, in his mind, there was no real reason or trigger behind these feelings. He knew it’s just how his brain worked. He knew it was a chemical imbalance. Knowing didn’t change how it felt.

~

Castiel had awakened when he realized his back was cold. There was nobody snuggled up against him. He sat up and saw the thin line of light coming from the bathroom.

He rubbed his eyes with a sigh. He knew this was coming. Sam had been despondent lately, no real light in his eyes and his smiles tight and forced. He’d all but stopped eating and absently scratched at his arms as if the sadness were a wool sweater that covered him. 

Castiel had hoped it would be a minor flare up. They happened sometimes, more often than the major ones, when diet change or a screwed up sleep schedule messed with Sam’s body chemistry more than usual. He’d hoped that was all it was. He hated seeing Sam in pain.

But it had already gone on a few days longer than the small bad days and, in he back of his mind, Castiel knew this was coming. At Sam’s worst times, he tended to seclude himself like an injured bird. He didn’t even seem to realize he did it, but he’d slink away into some dark corner or abandoned room as if he could nurse his wounds that way.

Castiel imagined it was partly due to Sam’s desperately independent nature and partly due to his not wanting to be a burden upon his loved ones. Either way, it was unnecessary.

Castiel pushed himself up from the bed and approached the bathroom, slowly opening the door. His heart shattered as he took in the scene of Sam laying on his side on the tile floor, arms wrapped around himself in a desperate attempt at self comfort.

He slowly lowers himself and wiped the tears from Sam’s face, then encouraged him closer. He comforted Sam, extending as much of his grace as he could and feeling with his own hands that he was safe. He held him as Sam clutched with all his strength and trembled through the tears.

It wasn’t okay, but they could survive.


	11. Valid

Life was good. He was happy. So why did he feel like a giant ball of black tar was sitting heavy in his gut? Why did he want to break down and cry? Or just lay down and die?

It didn’t make any sense to him. It was frustrating. He had no reason to feel down, but he couldn’t stop feeling that way. It felt like what he imagined it felt like for a demon to be pushed into hell when Sam had used his powers. The slow sinking of the black smoke into the ground. He felt like he was slowly sinking.

He rolled over in his bed, hoping to fall back asleep. He’d been sleeping alot in hopes that he would wake up feeling better. And if not, then at least he’d gotten through another few hours and wasn’t awake to feel anything.

He didn’t notice the low creek of the door as it opened, almost asleep once more. The soft touch through his hair only helped him fall further into the realm of sleep. The dip in the mattress was what brought him back to full consciousness.

“Dean?” He mumbled, scrubbing at his eyes. “What are you doin’?”

“Sammy, I can’t…” Dean’s voice broke a little, getting Sam’s attention. He sat up in the bed, worried. 

“Dean?”

“I can’t watch you do this to yourself. I can’t just stand by.” Dean’s eyes were tight with crows feet. He was tense, out of his element, scared. Only someone as close as Sam would be able to see that, and he could see nothing but that right now.

“Do what? What are you talking about?”

“God, Sam… it’s not good to just bottle this up. Let me in. I can see you’re hurtin’.”

Sam clamped his mouth shut, the click of his teeth audible enough to make Dean flinch.

“There’s nothing. Everything is good right now, Dean. You’re good. I’m good. We’re not dying. The world isn’t ending. Cas is an angel. There is no reason for me to feel anything but happy right now! Don’t you get that?” Sam couldn’t help but feel as if he were coming apart at the seams as his voice raised. The pressure was building in his chest and he almost, almost felt as if he would get some release. It was teasing him and torturing him, the pressure almost ready to burst, but not yet.

“There doesn’t have to be anything wrong, dude! Sometimes… sometimes you just feel like shit.” Dean waved a hand around. “Especially when it’s us. You can’t run around on adrenaline for weeks at a time and then not expect a backlash when it goes away.”

“What?”

Dean sighed, “You don’t need a reason. Sometimes your body just fucks with you. It’s all brain chemistry.”

“But… it’s…” Sam searched for the right word, “disconcerting…. to feel a certain way without any reason for it. It’s almost like the emotions aren’t real or they are altered… planted by someone. I don’t know. It’s just… I don’t like it. And it makes it worse.”

“Okay… so let’s deal with that, first. How do you feel?”

Sam shifted on the bed, not used to Dean asking such direct questions about emotions. Sure, he’d asked those same words… but not in the same way.

“Um… I feel like my insides are black and heavy. Like I’m sinking. I feel… homesick? No… lost? Heavy and sinking. Dark.” He squeezed his eyes shut and grabbed at his hair, trying to figure out a way to describe how he felt. 

“Dude… okay…” Dean’s voice was soft as he pulled Sam’s hands away from the hair they were tugging at. “That feeling? That’s real. It’s real because you are feeling it. That’s all that matters.”

Sam nodded, breathing deep. He readied himself for the next question, leaning closer and letting his head rest against Dean. 

His brother was there now, and the pressure in his chest began to ease.


	12. Faking It

He was so very good at faking it.

He ate when he was expected to. He laughed at Dean’s jokes, smiled at Castiel’s stories. He hunted when he needed to. 

He could keep the darkness from overwhelming him when he was surrounded by action and people. It was in the back of his mind, lurking, waiting to take over. 

When he was alone, there were no distractions. He would drown every single day. Sinking… like that damn horse. Sometimes he felt like Artax. Sometimes he wanted to let the Swamp of Sadness cover him and kill him. He wanted to lay down and die.

He found himself staring at the demon blade often. It seemed fitting. If he was going to go out, it should be by a thing that kills demons. Maybe it would kill off every bit of demon blood in him first. Maybe he would have a moment of purity before he died. 

He just looked at it. He knew suicidal thoughts were a bad thing. He wasn’t tupid. He didn’t dare touch it when he felt that way. He didn’t know if he’d be able to resist testing it out. So he just looked. 

Sometimes he slept… a lot. When nothing else could get rid of the gnawing pit in his stomach. When he felt like he was going to throw up and cry at the same time, the only escape he could find was sleep. 

He’d say he was going to read, and he would collapse in his bed until Dean came to get him for whatever reason. At least, if he was sleeping, he couldn’t kill himself. At least, if he was sleeping, he didn’t feel the pain inside. Sleeping was good.

When he was with Dean or Cas, he had to keep it in. The feelings and secrets wanted to bubble up and burst out like word vomit. He felt the urge to cry out for help. And when he thought one of them might be catching on, he clamped up tighter than a vault. 

It was confusing being Sam. He wanted to ask for help and, at the same time, he was terrified of anyone finding out. 

He didn’t want to be the one to call attention to something bad. He didn’t want to be the drama queen. Things were going well. Things were relatively calm. Who the fuck was he to ruin the peace?

“Sam?” 

Sam looked up from where he’d been sitting and biting at his cuticles instead of reading. 

“I think we need to talk.”

He felt cold.


	13. Balance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> depression and SSRI (antidepressant) withdrawal

Sam had a touch of the flu. Or he thought he did. He felt achy and nauseated enough to sit out of the latest hunt. Dean took Benny along for backup while Castiel stayed to take care of Sam. 

He kind of wished Cas had gone along, too. He couldn’t explain why. He loved the angel with all of his heart, but right now he felt so alone even with Cas by his side. It seemed as if it would be almost easier to deal with the loneliness if he were actually physically alone to validate it. 

Or maybe it would be easier to stay in bed and forget about existing if nobody were around to care.

But Cas was there. Cas cared.

And Sam felt like an evil, unworthy prick because he’d yelled at Castiel to leave him alone when all he’d tried to do was take care of the younger Winchester. 

So Cas did. He still hovered outside of the bedroom, letting Sam know he was there and that he cared. He didn’t bother Sam at all. 

He was too good. Worth more than Sam could ever be. Sam could never do anything to deserve him. He should just end it and let Cas off the hook. 

The sudden thought startled Sam into holding his breath for a moment. It was a thought he hadn’t had in a long time. It hadn’t held the same feeling of importance for even longer than that. But it was there now, and it felt so important and strong. 

His current state of mind prevented him from seeing the significance in the recurrence of his old thought patterns and emotions. He didn’t see the danger, didn’t perceive his thoughts as harmful. He didn’t think to tell Castiel about them.

He didn’t have to.

“Sam?” 

Sam rolled over in the bed to face Castiel. There was an orange pill bottle in his hand and a concerned furrow on his brow. Sam closed his eyes and sighed.

“Sam, what is this?”

“It’s my medicine.” Sam said, eyes blinking dully.

“Yes, I know that. Why is it empty?”

“I ran out.”

“Did you not get it refilled?” Cas came to sit on the edge of the bed.

“I didn’t think of it until I went to get one and it was empty. Pharmacy said they are short by one pill, so they won’t refill it until they get the new shipment in.” Sam waved his hand dismissively and shoved his head deeper into his pillow, not really having the energy to want to talk or even get upset about something he knew he was upset about last week.

“When does the new shipment arrive?”

“Thursday.”

“Sam, today is Saturday.”

“It is?”

“It is. You must be feeling terrible. No wonder you feel sick.” Castiel’s warm hand caressed the side of Sam’s face. “Promise you will be okay while I get this refilled for you? Okay means not harming yourself or leaving me in any way.”

Sam nodded. He would just sleep. He could sleep for years. He closed his eyes and let the soft touches take him back to the darkness.

“Sam? Take one, please.” Castiel was back. Sam must have fallen asleep quickly. Cas was holding out a small yellow oval pill and a glass of water. Sam took it and swallowed, not feeling any different. Not that he expected to.

“I talked to your doctor. He will start sending the prescription to a different pharmacy. He said he’d had this problem with them before and they were supposed to give you what they had and fill the rest later at no extra cost.” Castiel explained, a grimace on his face. One stupid pharmacist had caused Sam way too much pain and, were he a lesser being, he would be exacting his revenge at this very moment.

Instead, he took care of Sam. 

Sam would be alright when his body rebalanced itself. Even if he didn’t know it yet.


	14. End It All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> suicide attempt

Sammy….

Sam splashed his face with water, trying to ignore the voice that sounded like Lucifer. After Castiel and Dean got sucked into Purgatory, the visual hallucinations never returned… but the auditory ones struck back with a vengeance. 

He meant everything he said. You already know that… you said as much.

And it knew just how to kick Sam when he was down. All the areas of his psyche that never had a chance to heal. Spots that were picked at over and over again, constantly open and painful.

Even before Purgatory… he said Benny’s been a better brother in that past year than you’ve ever been. Ever, Sam.

Sam glared at himself in the mirror, feeling a sharp pain in his chest. He knew Lucifer was right. He ran away from home as a kid. He ran away to school. He ran off with Ruby. He… he just kept up the same pattern. The same behavior. 

He kept leaving Dean. Abandoning his family.

He was a terrible brother. Always the whiny kid brother who never appreciated anything. Dean gave him everything and Sam…

That’s right. That’s exactly what he was talking about. And you know it’s true. You couldn’t even come back from Hell correctly. Missing a few pieces. Maybe you’ve always been missing a few pieces. You saw the way Dean and Bobby looked at you after you died in Cold Oak.

Since he discovered how fucked up he really was. Since he found out about the demon blood. Since Dean sold his soul for an unworthy brat.

Unworthy. I bet he regrets that sacrifice. You aren’t worth forty years in Hell. Bet he wishes he could go back and undo it. Bet he wishes you were dead.

The sound of glass shattering, startled Sam away from the voice in his head. He blinked and saw his own fist in the mirror, a spiderweb of cracked glass surrounding it.

He pulled his fist back, a couple larger pieces of glass falling out as he did. He stared at the sharp, blade like edges as a sense of calm washed over him. His mind buzzed as he came to a decision, finally drowning out Lucifer’s voice. 

Maybe he should have thought of this sooner. He could have stopped the voice and Dean wouldn’t have had to deal with him.

With graceful serenity, Sam turned on the shower and took a shard of glass with him as he stepped into the tub. He shed his long sleeved shirt, and let himself be soaked by the lukewarm droplets as he sat down .

The water would keep him from clotting. Keep the blood flowing. 

Quickly, with the precision of a true hunter, he sliced his left arm from wrist to elbow. He gasped in surprise as the pain reminded him of the ghouls that had cut him the same way.

He switched the glass to the other hand, testing his grip. Before he could dig the shard into his skin, it was grabbed out of his hand. A hand tightly gripped one bicep as the glass clattered to the tile floor.

Head still buzzing, Sam looked up in shock. Dean was in his face. His lips were moving, but the sound was muffled. 

He was shaken before he was pulled, stumbling, out of the water. He was cold now, shivering, and he tried to pull back. He had to finish. 

He had to finish, needed to die, had to finish. 

“No!”

Sam froze as Dean’s yell cut through the fuzz, breaking apart every last bit of calm that was left. Then his knees gave out and he collapsed in on himself. The air escaped and he was left gasping, sobbing. 

“Sammy… Sammy why? It’s okay, I gotcha. But why? I’m sorry. Why? I’m so sorry.” Dean’s voice rambled desperately as he pulled at Sam’s arm, trying to wrap it in the rough motel towel. Pressing down on it, trying to keep in all the blood that Sam had been trying to get rid of. 

Sam was too busy trying to see through tears, breathe through snot, cry through the panic to answer him. And he gave in, let himself be maneuvered. Let Dean wrap up his arm until the older brother was calm enough to stitch it, which he would insist on doing no matter what Sam said. 

As Dean fretted over him, a steady stream of words coming from his mouth, Sam let himself go numb. It wasn’t quite the soothing calm he’d felt before, but it was better than feeling everything else. 

His tears fell silently, his breathing slowed down, and he was silent as Dean cleaned him and fixed him up. 

He came back to himself as his arm started to ache. He was lying on a bed. Dean was curled up around him, holding him like he was afraid to let go.

“Dean?”

“Sammy!” Dean’s hold tightened. “You’re awak- back. You’re… you’re okay…?”

“Why didn’t you just leave?”

“What?”

Sam took a shuddered breath, looking straight into Dean’s eyes as his warm body stayed wrapped around Sam. 

“You could have left. Been done with me. You could hunt with Benny. He’d be… he’s a good brother to you. And I… I thought you were dead and didn’t even bother to find out different. I wanted you to be in Heaven. I wanted it so bad and so I didn’t know.”

“Sam, no. I’m sorry… I didn’t mean the things I said. Benny could never be a brother to me like you. He’s just… a war buddy. It’s not the same. I’m sorry, man. I’m sorry.”

Dean was crying, pulling Sam’s head towards his chest. Sam let him. He spoke into Dean’s shirt.

“It doesn’t matter. I’ve never been a good brother. My whole life I’ve just been… an ungrateful burden.”

“No, little brother, no. You’re my everything. There’s nothing for me without you here. For fuck’s sake, you jumped into a cage with Lucifer.”

Sam stiffened a little at the mention of the name. He hated it. It startled him every time. He’d never get over it, he knew. He wasn’t strong like Dean.

“Dammit, Sam. You saved the world. You saved me. You’re so fuckin’ brave and selfless. And I forget because I don’t want you to be those things. I want you to be selfish. Maybe you’d be safer if you were. So I pretend you are. But it’s not true. It’s not. You’re so good.”

Sam’s head was being stroked, fingers running through his hair, keeping him calm. It was making him sleepy. 

He knew this wasn’t over. Dean would want to talk. Dean wouldn’t trust him on his own. 

But that could wait. Dean was warm and soft and he just needed to sleep.


	15. Sam's Journal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> suicidal thoughts

Sam kept a hunter’s journal, just like his dad. It wasn’t a fancy leatherbound one, but it did the job. He’d just found it at a bargain bookstore and kept it.

There were hunt summaries, monster descriptions, notations on where to find information in John’s journal, and personal entries he kept to himself. He figured the personal entries were safe. Dean kept hold of their dad’s journal most of the time and had not ever asked to see Sam’s, mostly just asked Sam to check his own.

But Sam was exhausted. Sam was taking a nap. Sam left his journal in the library where Cas and Dean were finishing up some research for a hunt.

“Dean, come look at this.”

“Did he say what it was that burned the griffin?” Dean asked, distractedly.

“No… well, yes. That’s not what I am looking at. Read this.” Castiel pushed Sam’s journal over to Dean.

Maybe Dad was right, but I don’t think Dean will go through with it.  
If I killed myself, he wouldn’t have to. And I wouldn’t have the chance to become evil like the other ones.   
The only thing keeping me from doing it is the fact that Dean would be all alone. Sure, he’d have Bobby… but that’s not the same. I need to stick around for Dean.

“What the hell is this?” Dean asked.

“It seems to be a personal entry. One of many.” Castiel supplied. He nodded for Dean to continue. He flipped forward a bit and stopped at another entry.

He said he would hunt me.  
I want to save him the trouble.  
He doesn’t trust me, but I can’t leave him alone like this. Not now. Not when he just got back.

“Sammy…” He flipped some more pages

I’ve ended the world. I don’t deserve to live. After we fix this, I’m ending it. 

“How many of these are there?” 

“The last one is dated only two days ago.” Castiel’s voice was quiet.

I had another dream. I can never stop him. I don’t know how much longer I can hang on.  
Every time I decide on a time and place, something else happens.   
There is always something that needs fixing. Something I am needed for.  
Things are calming down. Can I go through with it before something else comes up?

“He really… dammit, he really feels this way. But do you think he’d ever actually do it? He’s been writing these for years and hasn’t killed himself yet.” Dean sighed.

“Dean, he jumped into a cage in Hell with Lucifer for what was supposed to be all eternity. He was going to go through with the trials to close up Hell even though it would have cost him his life. You told me he was talking to Death when you and Gadreel found him in his mind. How many other times has he been willing to sacrifice himself?” 

“Too many times. So this is… his subtle suicide? Using the job to kill himself?”

“Well, he may not even realize it. Not consciously. But… yes, I believe so. Dean he needs help… not a lecture.” 

Dean glared. It was exactly the reaction Dean was going to go with. A swift kick in the pants. Knock some sense into his brother’s head. But… maybe Cas was right. Maybe that wasn’t the right approach. Maybe Sammy needed a more… Sammy approach. Talking.

“Yeah…. yeah. Got it.” He scrubbed his hands over his face. 

“Got what? What’s up?” A sleepy Sam complete with bed hair now stood in front of them.

“You. You’re the exact opposite of up, actually. You’re down…” Castiel answered. Sam laughed shortly.

“What?” 

His smile faded and his face paled when Dean tossed his journal to him.

“Sammy, we need to talk.”


End file.
